25th Day of Ash, 124th Year of the Age of Steel
Imperial Marches, Ecith
Imperial Marches, Ecith
It had been nearly twenty moons of fruitless skirmishes in this wild land. Masagh had made his way to the region called the Imperial Marches. The area was teaming with undead in a way the son of Creth had never seen before. It seemed the most likely area to find the necromancer. Asking around about the mysterious mage had brought little intelligence beyond the name of the area and the commonality of feral undead. Those he spoke to, once he clearly identified himself as both sentient and peaceful, had been much more accepting of him than in Gel’Grandal.
The dull monotony of his nightly exploration was interrupted by the arc of a flame flickering through the canopy of trees. Masagh angled low, tearing down out of the sky to inspect the disturbance. Then scene before him was now all too familiar. Five frontiersmen were desperately staving off a collected mass of undead. They defended their rear in a gulch between two muddy hillsides. Battered and exhausted, the rear men pushed the thralls back with spears while two of their number were higher up, pepping the horde with bolts from crossbows.
Masagh watched as two of the men coordinated to bring down a massive thrall carrying a long hafted axe. As he watched more thralls stepped up as they extended themselves and one man lost the grip on his spear. The thick mud hindered the zombies in their pursuit of the flesh, but it also slowed the five desperate living men in their escape.
Blood stained the mud and ran in rivulets down the winding crease of the gulch. The under pressed in on eachother to get to the fresh meat, their tattered fingers reaching or waving weapons. Masagh did not hesitate. Like a crow he burst through the canopy, sending green leaves flying, and struck down hard in the middle of the horde of zombies. The gleaming silver streak that was his greatsword was soon crimson. The weaker zombies fell in swaths around him. The ghoul knight cut them down indiscriminantly. Flesh flew and then horde turned its attention back inward towards the whirling swordsman and away from the living men.
They did not lunge to consume him. Sensing with their rudimentary ways that he was not the warm living flesh they hungered for even though his recent diet of fresh jungle kills had him passing for living. That did not mean they did not attack. Without hesitation the zombies attempted to gut him with their weapons or bog him down with their bodies. But zombies were slow and uncoordinated. Masagh was a High Born Ghoul and moved with the swift grace of a born warrior.
As his oversized pterincus wings contorted and retracted into his form, Masagh heard one of the men behind him shout. “A wizard, cover him!” The crossbowmen began shooting bolts into the crowd around him. It did almost nothing compared to the magically enhanced Ghoulblade.
“No, defend yourselves.” Masagh barked at them. He did not pause in his movements. Cleaving two more zombies in two in a single motion he stepped back in the mud. Rotten flesh and guts burst from them like the meat from a smashed fruit. As he moved to parry the strike of a rusted blade something caught his eye. A grey gaze glowering at him.
Breaking the offending blade and running the zombie through the eye, he flicked the remains of the head from his weapon. Searching the crowd of undead, he could not find the stare. It had held more… intellect than the ferals. Was there something that had goaded these undead on? Did they have a master in the crowd?
Masagh glanced back at the men. A handful of zombies were between them struggling to climb the mud. The spearmen were dispatching those that got too close. The bulk of the horde was around him. As he turned back to his enemies a blade shot out of the crowd. Masagh whipped his own up and blocked the blow.
The undead gripping the hilt of the large blade was a behemoth. Eight feet tall and grisly in appearance. A bloodied and battered cuirass of a more ancient design than the more modern garb of the zombies bedecked a broad chest. Arms tattooed and bulging with muscle gripped the sword like iron. A great helm hid most of the face, but the grey eyes held hate in them as they stared down at Masagh. Hate and intelligence.
“So you are the master of this trash?” Masagh asked the Graveborn. He took a step back but the other zombies did not pause in their assault.
“I do not recognize your regalia, ghoul.” The deep voice that came from the undead was ethereal and disdainful. The regalia in question was the tattered and constantly repaired leather armor and the ragged and faded ancient purple tunic with the sigil of house Creth, a white hand and grey drop of ichor. Combining that bedraggled appearance with his lack of footwear and generally grimy state, he hardly looked the part of a son of Creth.
“I serve House Creth… of the Undead Empire.” He said after a moment’s hesitation. “Why are you attacking these men?” He pressed. He was forced to turn his attention to the zombies now assailing him. Masagh made a few vicious swipes of his blade and dismembered the thralls.
“They trespass. You trespass, servant of House Creth.” The undead said. It was stepped forward again and Masagh knew it meant to kill him.
“Who do you serve, thrall?” Masagh demanded. “I seek a necromancer from these parts.”
The juggernaut ignored him save to raise his blade and charge again. The blade came down at Masagh like an avalanche of steel. He was forced to deflect it down and then retreat a few steps. With a surge of aether, Masagh sent Ghoulblade and two duplicates whirling at the juggernaut. He danced the blades around his defenses, but the warrior batted each aside and finally blocked Ghoulblade. One duplicate embedded itself in a zombie before dispersing into raw aether, then nothing.
“Invoker, you are trespassing. If you wish to live flee this place.” The voice demanded.
“Trespassing against whom?” Masagh yelled. “This jungle seems to belong to the monkeys and the leopards to me. Who claims it?”
This thrall was no feral zombie. This is the agent of an experienced necromancer. This one had come here for a reason, and had used the ferals to bolster their strength. It had brought the zombies to attack these frontiersmen in order to defend this place. So what was here?
“You will not trick me with questions.” The thrall said in that eerie voice. “I will not give up my master’s name simply for the asking. I do not know this House Creth. You are no friend.” It yelled at him, angry. Good.
Masagh smirked. “You should know it, thrall.” He raised his hand and with it a torrent of Duplicates went spinning out down the gulch. First five, then ten, then twenty gleaming blades scythed through the throng like so much wheat. Bodies fell or exploded around the thrall but it was able to block the onslaught with its blade.
“What are you doing trying to reason with it, wizard?” One of the frontiersmen yelled from above. They had made their way up the gulch while he distracted the horde. “Come with us! There’s a safe camp a few miles away.”
Masagh ignored the man. The juggernaut now stood tall amongst a littering of corpses and weapons, looking up at him. “I only want to speak to your master, thrall.” Masagh reiterated. If the dumb husk didn’t understand the power disparity after that display it was hopeless. He needed to find where this undead had come from. It was the first and only lead he had in almost thirty days.
A bolt embedded itself in the thrall’s collar and it took a step back. Masagh whirled on the men. He waved them down. “Stop! I am trying to speak to this one.”
“Speak to it? Nothing but mindless zombies, sir!” She man who fired the bolt yelled back down to him. Clanking drew Masagh’s attention back to where the undead warrior was now sprinting down the gulch back the way the horde had come. Masagh swore and tore after it.
He sent Ghoulblade Dancing before him. It weaved in the air and gained momentum. If the thrall wouldn’t talk, he could dominate it. He wasn’t as skilled as his brother or his mother but he could attempt to take over the soul binding. The blade embedded itself in the thing’s pelvis and it toppled. Masagh made a pulling gesture with his hand and the blade ripped out of the side of the thing and returned to him. The thrall struggled on the ground to turn over.
Masagh walked up to it.
“I don’t want to fight your master.” He said quietly as he approached. “I just want to talk. I am Graveborn as well.” He made sure his voice didn’t carry to the men above.
The grey white eyes stared yup at him in anger. It grimaced. “You think they haven’t sent ghouls and phantoms to try to lull him into a trap before? I am no fool, Masagh of House Creth which I don’t know.” Then the thrall convulsed and a ghostly being rose out of it. With a hollow ethereal shriek it began to fade.
Indira shot out of him in an attempt to catch the soul bound servant. She missed and cursed as the last faint tendrils of the thing dispersed like mist.
“Fuck!” Masagh yelled. “Fuck. That stubborn old mist brain!” He kicked at the now inert thrall. He could feel the lead slipping away. He turned on the spot and appeared nest to the five men at the top of the gulch.
They all started, one accidentally firing his crossbow into the air. Their leader began to speak but Masagh cut him off. “Where did those undead come from? Which direction?” Masagh asked.
The man stuttered and stared at him. “Who are you?” He asked.
“Which direction!” Masagh roared.
The man pointed with his spear. “That way. They came from the ruins deep in the forest. It’s the Imperial Marches, sir.” He said uneasily. “Undead everywhere if you are looking to kill more…”
“I’m looking for their master.” Masagh said. “Have you heard anything about a necromancer in the area?”
The men all glanced at each other. “They aren’t that kind of undead sir. They have just been wandering. That’s the way it’s always been here.”
Masagh scoffed. He began to walk away from the men. They called out to him, asking questions. He ignored them again. Transforming into the pterincus, Masagh leapt into the sky. He was closer now than he had been in two years. He could feel it.
Pumping his wings, Masagh flew out into the night again.